My Lame Family
by Kondoru
Summary: Bad Families mess you up...Good Families mess you up worse, as Darth Vader will discover.


My lame family By Kondoru

Thanks to Budgie for Beating

Standard Disclaimers.

Bad family's mess you up...Good families mess you up worse...

This is just a bit of fun really, with the most delightful EU character ever…I intend using him a bit more in the future, but for now…

Palaces are like every other building, really; they have a public side and a private side.

This is the private side of the Imperial palace on Coruscant. The grey alley is a medley of wheelie bins, recycling containers, old boxes, poorly parked speeders and dirty puddles.

A man is wending his way through these, youngish, but with wiry greying hair. He wears a Hi Viz vest, a flat cap and is carrying a basket of bottles.

It is morning and the milkman is here.

After perusing the crate of empties and the note by the back door (marked `Fire door, Keep shut. `) He walks up the alley with a clinking of bottles. He taps politely on a wheelie bin selected seemingly at random.

The lid cracks open an inch. Yes, it's the right bin.

"Good morning, my Lord, here is your Gold top and half a dozen yoghurt drinks." Said the milkman. The lid opens further and he hands the bottles in to the unseen occupant.

"How much do I owe you?" a harsh mechanical voice enquires, with the unspoken suggestion that he has not been paid for the past two months...And can the milkman please put it on his account?

"No, why would I charge you? You make the whole district safer."

"I aim to make the whole Galaxy that way." the voice replies proudly. (This is pretty much the entirety of his political philosophy, that and `Let Palpatine deal with it. `)

The milkman departs with the clinking empties.

A blue skinned Twi'lek is next to make their way up the alley. Instead of avoiding the puddles, they gleefully kick up the water with their Post Office boots, whistling tunelessly.

The lid of the bin cracks open again in anticipation.

The postman (Woman? Twi'lek? Being?) Stops and digs out a big bundle of brown packets. Today is magazine subscription delivery day.

"Greetings, -I see half the bag is yours, Master." they say. "Looks like its Transbeing Bimonthly, The Magazine of the Enhanced. Scrap dealers journal. Swoop Bike Racing Unlimited. Vaders Own; The 501st Fanmag. The Beano." They pause. "Droid Xtreeme isn't due until next week...And the Anchorhead Times is late again."

There is a raspy sigh from within the bin; he hasn't got news from the Outer Rim in weeks.

The postman handed in the packets and departs, glad of a somewhat lighter bag.

The bins occupant thumbs through the magazines, sucking up milk through his feeding tubes thoughtfully. He keeps a close ear out for the tread of his next visitor. He needs this next delivery.

Sure enough...A white haired woman in a floppy hat came around the corner. She was bearing two bulging carrier bags.

"I'm in this bin." called the occupant.

"Here's your prescriptions from the surgery." she announces "They changed your pain meds -yet again."

"Again?" The bins occupant growls. "I dislike all this chopping and changing. Can you complain?"

Last time he went to the surgery he was kicked out for causing a scene...Even though he had been at his most humble and polite. You do not annoy your GP, do you?

But the Emperor kept close tabs on his healthcare. That and interfered, seemingly at random.

And the next intruder is also seemingly at random.

He is a human male, one of the blue eyed, chocolate brown haired sort which the Galaxy is infested with. He wears brown jeans and a grubby white vest which fits poorly over his bulging muscles. He stops and scans the bins thoughtfully. The young man smiled widely to himself. He took a flying leap, grabbing the overhead pipes and came down on the wheelie bin with a clang, then leapt off into the crates.

The lid catapults open. "WRENGA JIXTON!" roars Darth Vader, emerging from its depths. (For he knows no other being in the galaxy dares treat him so).

"Why, hi there, Uncle D." Smirks the Corellian gleefully. Like many of his kind, he lives to flirt with death. He is so fortunate, his Death is much more corporeal than most.

Vader Force grabs him up by the scruff. (It is his friendlier version of the Force choke). He shakes his nemesis.

"Why are you not in the Imperial palace?" asked Jix hopefully.

"And be under my Masters feet all the time? I now have a place of my own."

Jix looked to the wheelie bin and back to the Dark Lord. "I hope you're not paying too much rent for that?"

"I was allocated it just last weekend." Darth Vader said proudly. "Before that I had to sleep in a doorway."

Jix shook his head. He knows his employer doesn't ever get paid but..."You need a flat, Uncle D." He says in a wonderful display of `state the bloody Obvious. `

"I cannot."

"Oh ho!" his nemesis huffs.

Darth Vader took a final pull of his gold top. "Well, as a middle aged male the council won't even put me on the housing list." He said sadly.

"Can't you?" Jix made a gesture. (He believes the Force is capable of anything).

"Yes...But if my Master found out..."

"But there's your health to consider..." Jix added.

Darth Vader looked sorrowful. "I told them that I am a multiple amputee with damaged lungs and serious sensory issues. They asked me if I had mobility issues and could see and hear all right..."

(We won't talk about Darth Vaders misadventures with the Disability Pension department, not today…)

It was Jix's turn to sigh. "And you said you enjoyed good mobility and your senses have been enhanced? Uncle D, Uncle D...What did I say to you about being economical with the truth?"

His employer sniffed, "And be like a politician?"

"And the Emperors Fist? Doesn't that make you a politician?" Jix asked.

Darth Vader shrugged, "political yes...I am not a politician." He gave his self-appointed nephew and the too helpful bane of his life a final shake.

"No ship?" The Corellian dared say. (There was always some form of ship with Darth Vader around...But the Sith lord hadn't left Coruscant in weeks, as far as Jix, who kept a close watch upon his employer, could see).

"No..."There was an unspoken Warning not to mention the Death Star...And his current `unwanted by Master` State.

"I've heard Kuat Shipyards are working on a huge version of a Star Destroyer."

"Probably go to some sycophantic up and coming Admiral." His gloomy master leaned back. "Big ships of little use to me." He looked at Jix "Would a big ship be of use to you?" It was a metaphorical question.

"It might be if it had a hyperbaric chamber for my Favourite Uncle." Jix brownnosed.

Darth Vader had to give one of his rare smiles under his mask. There was a reason he didn't strangle the eternally annoying Corellian rogue; not only was he good at his job, that of Vaders private agent, but he genuinely cared about his adopted uncle.

He reminded him of a previous life, the life of the Hero Without Fear, and his favourite Padawan, a girl, whom even in the terrors of battle (and there had been oh, so many, many battles.) Had laughed, had lightened his grim heart, and had reminded him of the Light Side; that life held so many terrors and tribulations, for him, for her, who by rights should have been safe at home instead of fighting a stupid civil war.

During that incident on Aridus, Darth Vader had been beneath the tower when it had been blown up. He had been buried. Against all hope the renegade Imperial Wrenga Jixton had rescued him. He had dug the unconscious Sith Lord from the rubble and taken him on board his ship.

Jix could have handed him over to the Rebellion, to have held him hostage, and Darth Vader knew that he was one big lump of expensive equipment, cybernetics, Virtual Reality set, Mandolaran crush gauntlets, lightsabre...Dead he was worth a fortune in salvage.

But instead he took him back to Coruscant.

"What do I do? You're extremities seem to be mechanical...Yet you breathe. "Jix had moaned. "How do I remove this?" He gestured to Darth Vaders great black helm. It might have been nice if his saviour had removed his mask and put an end to everyone's problems. However the helmet was locked down and could only be removed by himself.

Darth Vader was barely lucid but he realised his fate was in the hands of this stranger.

The Force told him not to fear. He gave his saviour the access codes to his suits computer. "Plug my chest plate into your ships computer." He told him weakly.

The medical files were quite easy to read. The different sections of his life support suit were coded in order of importance. The respirator took priority, as did the central computer. Then came his helmets sensory array and lastly his limbs. Each file brought up what damage had been done in each section.

Though the suit had sustained considerable damage thankfully very little of it proved a danger…Most damage was non vital. His legs were not only crushed beyond repair but were cut off from the rest of the suit. However they were not vital to his survival.

His respirator was still working, and so was the computer. This was all he needed.

For now at least.

Jix spent that week in nursing his new master. Darth Vader was now one big heap of scrap metal. He was dependent on Jix for everything. Jix was no medic but did his best to look after his impatient patient. He found out how to refill Vaders suits water supply, to empty his waste pouches and to not disturb him during his meditations.

Boredom seemed to be his worst enemy. Darth Vader was used to doing things. Even after his `accident` and subsequent operation, he was on his feet again…Just as soon as he had learned to walk on his new, mechanical ones.

Jix told his new master funny stories from his life in the Imperial academy, The spice mines of Kessel, and Aridus. He had settled down on Aridus and had the respect of the Chubbits. Jix was very fond of the reptilian aliens and now protected them from the Empire.

"And then you saved me. Why?" Darth Vader was very impressed by this wild character who knew no fear. (Hadn't he been that person once?)

But Jix had never given him an answer to that one.

So Vader promised to leave Aridus alone...Provided Wrenga Jixton swore eternal servitude to the Dark Lord.

Many would balk at that. Jix merely said `What's the pay? `

Vader had to laugh, `you will be permitted to live. ` He had replied grimly.

`And go on exciting and dangerous missions for my Uncle D? ` His new agent had replied archly.

`Who is this Uncle D? ` Growled the Sith.

Jix had given his biggest, insolentest smile.

And Darth Vader knew.

Jix had even given his master a new name, something he no longer thought possible...Wrenga had named him Uncle D. `Uncle D` wasn't the name of a monster.

He was Family.

Family. The thing no Jedi possessed. The thing he coveted. The thing he could never be permitted to have.

He had thrown that all away. (And all for love. But why couldn't he be permitted the things that the least of males had as a natural born right? Why?) The Hero who had lost everything...even his very name. He had died...and been reborn into a life of agony, isolated from the Galaxy he had no love...certainly not self-love.

This slapdash rogue had causally granted Darth Vader a boon that no other being in the universe dared to, cared to.

And for the first time in years tears had run down his scarred face. "Nephew" he had replied.

Family.

Darth Vader had no family. He wasn't Anakin Skywalker.

(He had to remind himself that constantly. Indeed he even referred to that individual as a separate person. It was needful for his sanity).

But then he had found out about his son. The boy born to a dead mother and a destroyed father, the boy who existed in defiance of the Light side, in spite of the Dark side.

The young man strong in the Force...Who could do the impossible. But, then, he was a Jedi.

And his father...No, both his fathers were proud of him. And slightly terrified.

It was true he was now suffering the wrath of his Master because of his sons act in destroying the Death Star. (A toy Vader had little use for). `We use the Force...My Apprentice…` Darth Sidious had explained in his best grandfatherly tone. `But we are a very small minority...The Galaxy needs what you slightingly call `technological terrors` in order to fear us. We cannot frighten the Empire at large with what they laughingly dismiss as magical tricks, can we? `

Darth Vader had to nod at that. The public needed things they understood.

Now Luke had joined the Rebellion and was at Large in the galaxy…

Half of him wanted to corrupt him...And the other half protect him from evil, (But maybe Luke would save `him`?)

Jix watched over Luke Skywalker. This was on top of his normal duties, which were to report in to his Dark Master every three months, as well as his commissions. It meant he spent a lot of time on Tatooine too. But Jix was well paid for his endeavours. (Luckily Vader was good at `creative accounting` with the military budget).

"I trust you are looking after yourself?" Jix said with genuine concern.

"I attend the Medical Centre every month, as recommended by my Specialists." Groused Vader. His medical problems were always a sore point with him. He worked so hard to appear fit and healthy.

(You have to wonder about a guy who no longer sees the Doctor, he has a whole team of specialists on his case, don't you?)

"Yeah." Jix knew what that meant. "You get tortured...If you are going to be the Emperors Enforcer...It helps if you can take pain as well as give it." Having been one of the few individuals who had accessed the Sith lords medical files, Jix well knew what it took to keep Darth Vader on his metal feet.

Straight, and to the point, -that was Wrenga...

…And he was, of course, quite right.

Darth Vader would be de suited, his cybernetic limbs removed and overhauled, and the necrotising flesh that covered his entire body scrubbed off. These monthly ordeals were necessary, but very painful.

"I mean looking after yourself beyond that." Jix said in a dangerous voice.

The Dark Side cannot be used to heal." the Sith Lord replied sadly.

Then use the Light Side! You were a Jedi, once, weren't you?

Darth Vader slapped his lightsabre that hung at his belt by way of warning. (It was a Jedi warning; Sith gave none).

"You should be seeing a doctor, not those torturers and droid breakers that you're Master has looking after you." His self-appointed Nephew chided.

His Master said nothing. He was well aware that his medical treatment was substandard.

"I could take you to a place like Polis Massa...I'm sure I could get the money somewhere. Even if it was just a while in a Bacta tank." Jix offered.

They both knew that bacta would allow the Sith to grow new skin.

"But The Emperor will notice. " Said Darth Vader sadly.


End file.
